


In A Different Universe

by shetlandowl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - DC Comics, Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Fanboy Tony Stark, Getting Together, Identity Porn, Lois and Clark taken from Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman, M/M, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 13:31:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18074312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shetlandowl/pseuds/shetlandowl
Summary: There are too many secrets between Tony and Steve, but they're not all Steve's fault, okay?





	In A Different Universe

The elevator doors pinged open on the twelfth floor to let Tony out into the newsroom. The smell of fresh coffee and morning pastries warred with an invigorating rush of manic energy and typing. All around him Tony felt his colleagues working on the next big story. He was just like them; he was the worst of them. But for the first time in all his years at The Gotham Gazette, Tony didn’t blindly make a beeline for the next case or to finish the draft of a big story at his desk.

Today he stood at the top of the stairs like some lovesick deer in headlights, occupying the entry hall of the newsroom to stare at his partner.

Steve was across the room and mostly turned away from Tony while in conversation with Darcy, the gossip columnist. In the span of ten hours he had gone from Tony’s dedicated but polite partner to the most attractive man in Gotham. Tony was still reeling from this new reality he’d been handed, and somewhere in the most uncomfortable, insecure corners of his mind, Tony wondered if last night had even been real. Had Steve kissed him, or was it all a dream? He still felt the soft touch of Steve’s lips against his, the caress of his fingertips, so gentle and yet so eager in his excitement. In their excitement.

Had Tony never noticed how attractive his partner was in all their time together, or was he simply that adept at denial? Steve was kind and quick-witted and sharp enough to give Tony a run for his money. In Tony’s defense, who’d ever expect half of that said about some guy out of Bumfuck Nowhere, Kansas?

Wherever he was from, Steve was perfect and Tony’s loyal, reliable, hard-working partner. If the kiss hadn’t left him reeling already, the potential consequences of all this sure did. Steve had ruined him for anybody else, no other partner would do if they were separated. Tony had refused to work with a partner until Fury hoisted farm-boy Rogers on him eight months ago, but Tony was a different man now. They both were.

Between one heartbeat and the next, Tony felt his lovesick heart give way to cold sweat. He couldn’t afford to fuck this friendship and partnership up, not even for sex with Steve.

As if he had heard the sudden roar of insecurities in Tony’s spiraling thoughts, Steve chose that precise moment to turn and notice Tony standing awkwardly in the entryway of the office, staring at him.

Tony didn’t stand a chance, not against those inhumanly beautiful blue eyes and Steve’s perfect smile.

Or, that’s what Tony had come to expect.

In his experience Steve always stopped what he was doing to smile when he saw Tony, so to be greeted with a frown now made Tony’s stomach drop. He tracked Steve’s subtle nod until his gaze snapped to some unfamiliar suits crowding around his and Steve’s desks, clacking away on keyboards and digging through drawers. The laminated badges clipped to their suit pockets told Tony he couldn’t kick them out for trespassing, so instead he turned on his heel and marched into Fury’s office, intentionally slamming the door shut behind him.

“Chief, who the fuck is digging through my stuff and what the hell is going on?”

“They got a warrant, Stark. It was either the computers or giving you and Rogers up to be questioned. And since neither of you are dumb enough to leave any sources or sensitive data on your computers,” he said more slowly, daring Tony to correct him. “I gave them the computers.”

“What about the Constitution!” Tony shouted just as Steve slipped into the room. “What, are they so busy justifying the second amendment that they just skipped over the first? This is fundamentally un-American, Chief, how could you let—”

“They have a warrant, what do you want—”

“They’re acting shady, sir,” Steve seconded before Fury took Tony’s head off. “They don’t look like any government employees I’ve ever seen.”

“I had Potts check out the warrant, it’s legit. Now, unless you want to take a trip down to Gotham PD in handcuffs, I suggest you let it go.”

“But… my,” Tony couldn’t help but say. _His computer_. He’d built it himself; it had seen him through his first big break. Everything he’d ever written was on there, his expose on the double dealing Stane Inc., his award winning interview with Bruce fucking Wayne. The next chapter of his self-insert Superman fan fic that was over fifty pages and wasn’t backed up anywhere else.

“Are you done?” Fury asked with a tired drawl. “You want them to stop? Whatever you two are doing is clearly getting the wrong people angry, so get out there and do what you do best: get them first.”

***

“I need that computer back.”

“You keep saying that. What is on that computer, nuclear launch codes?” Steve wondered while he thanked the hot dog vendor and stuffed the change for his ten into the tip jar.

“My,” _old diary_ , Tony couldn’t say. “Uh, my, uh,” _fan fiction_ , which he’d worked on for nearly two months and basically was his secret lovechild with Superman. “It’s just my,” _gigabytes worth of candid and legit pictures of the Man of Steel in his skin-tight blue uniform_.

“My medical records, my tax returns. Banner’s grandma’s family recipe for the best homemade pizza dough that even I can make. Really important and personal information, Steve,” Tony finally admitted, lying through his teeth. Sure, those things _were_ on his computer, but to hell with his taxes and his medical shit; he’d curated that Superman photo collection close to two decades! Many of those pictures weren’t even available anymore.

Worse than that, Superman wasn’t available anymore. The pictures and fandom were all Tony had left, because nobody had seen Superman in fifteen years. Not officially, anyway. Witnesses at various natural disasters sometimes claimed to have seen the blue tights and the red cape seconds before the worst of the storm was diverted, or that time a bridge near Vancouver had crumbled and more than forty cars should have crashed into the ravine below. But chunks of the bridge magically remained airborn long enough for the cars to skid back to solid ground, and some people claimed to have glimpsed the red cape take off.

What Tony wouldn’t give to have lived in Metropolis when Superman lived among them on a daily basis. If he’d only been born one generation earlier! He might have even met Lois Lane, had the chance to shake hands with her, the reporter who’d first planted the seeds of investigative journalism in his dreams, and how any journalist worth her salt wouldn’t take shit from anyone. Lois Lane inspired more of his life choices than Howard ever had, because not only did she tear down the bullshit year after year, but she landed the sexiest, most heroic man to walk this planet. Except, of course, Superman was an alien. Most of Tony’s teenage years were spent debating whether Superman _functioned_ like a man. He sure filled out his uniform with excellent potential, but what if you got down there and his sperm were as hot as his laser vision? Or maybe his alien body was simply at a different acidic point and would chemically fuck your shit up from the inside?

Back in the real world and safe from Tony’s inner turmoil, Steve—gentle, mild-mannered Steve who took Tony at his word—frowned in sympathy. “Then we need to figure out who they were. They’re not government agents, I’d bet the farm on that.”

“The whole farm? That’s big talk out of you, Rogers,” Tony couldn’t stop himself from saying. Too late it occurred to him that maybe if he wanted more Steve kisses in his near future, maybe he shouldn’t keep insulting him (or farmers) (or Kansas) (or the midwest in general).

But Steve gave him the same long-suffering and grudgingly amused side-eye he always did, and instead of expressing frustration with Tony’s mixed signals, he gave Tony one of the four hot dogs he ordered and continued his earlier train of thought. “Did you have anything on your plate except our story on Wayne HR?”

“Even if I did, Wayne is the likeliest suspect,” Tony muttered between bites. “Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Can you think of a narcissist in Gotham with better connections?”

If Tony didn’t know him any better, he’d say that Steve looked taken aback. “Really?” he cleared his throat and swallowed before trying again. “I thought you liked Mr. Wayne.”

“What, cause he’s pushing 50 and still has an eight-pack? Sure,” Tony conceded, because he’d just made his own point. “He’s smart and charming and sexy and single-handedly responsible for employing half of Gotham. But he’s kinda sketchy, don’t you think?”

Steve shrugged his shoulders and looked away, but he didn’t say anything.

“And, you know. I might have snooped around while you questioned people last time we were there,” Tony told him before he changed his mind. Trusting people in journalism was a bad idea, but Steve was something else. Tony was trying to be better about treating him accordingly. “Did you know he’s got surgeons on his payroll? Not a few doctors, Steve, I’m talking a stable of experts in reconstructive surgery or, or serious trauma. People who’re paid millions treat extreme athletes and crazy MMA fighters.”

“Maybe he’s into extreme sports and wants people on call? He’s got the money to spare,” Steve reasoned.

Tony narrowed his eyes and gave him a _look_. “You’re an investigative journalist, Steve. Do you honestly think it’s something that innocent? He is _the_ Bruce Wayne.”

“I know that look, Tony. You don’t care what I think,” Steve said without an ounce of irony. “So what is it you want to do?”

“I mean, I don’t know if you’ve heard,” Tony said with the excitement of a man with a plan. “But I scored an interview with Bruce Wayne earlier this year, and he liked it so much he invited me to his annual charity ball. It’s this week, Steve. It’s the perfect opportunity: we’ll have access to everything in Wayne Tower!”

Steve blinked and looked at him, blushing in a way Tony imagined only polite farm boys could. “We?”

“Oui,” Tony teased, sidling in close to Steve’s side. “Would you be my date to the ball, Steve Rogers?”

Steve melted just a little bit, but his smile was as brilliant and warm as sunshine. Tony could feel his own cold, sheltered heart thaw with happiness.

“Yes, Tony. I would like that very much.”

***

“Tomorrow is the Wayne Charity Ball. Tony Stark’s big dream finally come true?”

“Why does everyone seem to think I want to seduce Bruce Wayne?” Tony grumbled mostly to himself, flagging down the bartender for a needed drink. “I wanna nail him, not _nail him._ ”

“Sure you don’t, like most of everyone in Gotham.”

“Don’t project your weird fantasies onto me, Romanov,” Tony accused half-heartedly. “Wayne’s a looker, sure, fine. I’ll give you that. Richer than the devil. But he’s that worst kind of shady piece of shit. I know his kind; my dad was his kind. He’s too wealthy and has enough people in his pocket to keep getting away with any crime he likes. He’s got a dark side, I can just feel it, and I’ll expose him if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Is that before or after you ‘expose’ Rogers?”

Tony rolled his eyes and gave Natasha an unimpressed side-eye. Couldn’t she at least wait until his drink arrived?

His look failed to make Natasha do anything but smirk. “Don’t give me that look, Stark. If you wanted it to be a secret you shouldn’t gawk at him in the middle of the newsroom.”

Tony groaned and hid his face in his hands. He was coming up on his thirty-sixth birthday, he was too old for googly-eyed puppy love. “Was I obvious before?” he asked in a shy mumble instead of acknowledging her comment. “Before yesterday.”

“Does the Pope have questionable morals?”

“He kissed me— _we_ kissed,” he told her in a lowered voice, shy and excited and anxious all at once. “Yesterday. We were both half asleep, I didn’t think it was real… I hope it was? I can’t tell if he wants to take it slow, or if he doesn’t want anyone to know at work or what, but he was distant and weird today. We were digging through records and interviews on Wayne and he just… he would barely talk to me. How does it even work in Kansas? Do they still wait for marriage? I don’t think I can do that, but then it’s Steve. _Steve._ He’s not like other people. He is respectful, he’s kind, he listens—not because he’ll get something out of it, but because it’s how you’re supposed to treat people! Who does that, Nat? Hell, I don’t deserve him. And I asked him out, what was I thinking? Have you seen him? He’s sex on legs, I can’t wait until marriage; I don’t even know if I want to get married but I’m horny as hell. I’m not a masochist, what is my life?”

Natasha patiently listened and watched him without saying a word. When Tony had been quiet for a while and it was clear another burst of insecurity wasn’t immediately forthcoming, she turned after the bartender to order two more rounds of drinks.

“Get a move on, Barton. It’s going to be one of those nights.”

“From what I can hear, he’s the one making this ‘one of those nights,’” Barton said with a knowing smirk. He came around with two shots of whiskey for Tony and a Moscow mule for Natasha. “Your partner is this very complex and deep character but Bruce Wayne is a villain because he has means and opportunity?”

Tony shot him a look and tried to brush his jab off. “Your job is serving booze, my job is knowing when someone’s trying to hide something. Bruce Wayne is hiding something.”

“And you know for a fact that something needs to be revealed? He has no right to privacy ...because he’s rich? That’s pretty thin, Stark. Even for you.”

Natasha raised a brow and gave Tony a curious look. “He gives to charity and arranges benefits for the most important social causes of our time. You think a man like that is going to turn around and do horrible crimes?”

“So he distracts the public with some charitable acts and you decide he’s a good person? We like to think we know people, but all of us wear masks. You never know who anybody is, and you know why?” he said between his second and third shot. “Because the second someone sees you for who you really are, they will use it against you.”

Barton scoffed and shook his head with a smirk. “It’s gotta be tough being you and having all the answers to the universe, Stark.”

Tony could only grunt in agreement. “You have no idea.”

***

“Mom, it’s just a small cut,” Steve repeated into the phone _again_ while he dug through his drawer of similar looking white bottles, ointments, lotions, and novelty condoms (when did that get in there?) in the hopes that he still had some band-aids lying around. “It’s normal, it’s just a little blood.”

“So sue me, I don’t like it when you bleed outside of Kansas state lines,” his mom replied irritably. “Can you see the bone?”

Steve slammed the drawer shut and tried not to shout at his mom. If she’d just let him get off the phone to get a dinner together so he could be mulish and alone in peace, he wouldn’t be here bleeding into a paper towel in the only apartment in Gotham without band-aids.

“Mom, I was cutting tomatoes! It’s a small cut—”

A gentle knock on his balcony door caught Steve off guard, and when he turned to see what it was, he found his dad standing on the balcony with a small CVS bag and a concerned expression. Steve watched him from the hallway and didn’t immediately let him in, giving his overbearing dad enough time out in the cold so he’d know how welcome his style of (literal) helicopter parenting really was.

“Did your dad finally get there?” Steve heard his mom asking through the phone. “What took him so long?”

“A fire in Albuquerque,” Clark answered from the balcony through the closed doors and across the living room, because he heard everything. He patted at himself then, and Steve’s enhanced sight allowed him to see how the soot and charred ash came off his suit in thick little clouds. By some minor miracle his dad had avoided the bright red and blue of his favorite uniform and worn one of his black suits, one without a cape and with a silver family crest on his chest.

“Steve? I shelled out for Neosporin. Let me in?”

“Yeah, he’s here,” Steve said when he finally caved and let his dad in. “We’ll call you back,” he told his mom over the phone. He watched his dad walk across the living room to the bathroom, and with a tired sigh, he accusatively added, “dad’s tracking ash all over my carpet.”

There was an answering sigh over the phone. “I hate it when he does that.”

“And I don’t like it when you two gang up on me!” Clark called from the bathroom. Steve didn’t pass the message on before hanging up and following his dad to the bathroom.

In the seconds it had taken Steve to reach the bathroom, Clark had thrown his suit in the laundry, taken a shower, and Steve could hear him in his bedroom looking for something to wear. The plastic CVS bag sat on the bathroom counter, and his dad had opened the new tube of Neosporin for him and left a big band-aid next to it.

Steve washed his hands at normal speed and squeezed out a generous amount of ointment over his cut before trying to single-handedly wrap the band-aid around his finger.

“Here, let me help,” his dad said quietly over his shoulder when all Steve managed to do was smear the ointment over the sticky flaps of the band-aid so it wouldn’t close anymore. He was an adult, damnit, but he was also man enough to admit it felt nice to be a little coddled after a long, frustrating day.

Clark picked out another band-aid and with careful, patient hands got his son’s finger wrapped up.

“Thanks, dad,” Steve said with a grudging smile. Clark had pulled on a pair of Steve’s jeans and a cozy flannel shirt. Even without the glasses he was Steve’s dad again instead of some superhero in the sky, and all at once Steve was struck by how homesick he felt.

“You didn’t have to fly all the way out here.”

“We wouldn’t be so worried about you if you came home every once in a while,” Clark reminded him gently, and somehow he managed to make it sound reasonable and sincere instead of the guilt trip Steve knew it was. But that, Steve had realized, was a Kent family super power, and it had nothing to do with Kryptonian biology.

“I know, I know,” Steve said as he led the way out to the kitchen and checked on the pizza. It wasn’t ready yet, but instead of asking his dad to put his heat vision to use, he let it keep cooking at normal speed and made his way to the fridge instead. “Beer?”

Clark accepted the bottle Steve passed to him and otherwise let silence do the rest of the work for him.

“I’ll come visit soon, dad,” Steve said in response to a question that hadn’t been asked. “It’s just been really busy at work.”

“So I hear,” Clark said calmly, but something about his tone raised a warning flag. Steve only had a moment to brace himself before the game was up. “Bruce called this morning. He wanted to know why his godson was snooping around his personal business.”

“Dad, I wasn’t—”

Clark quieted him with a knowing look. “What your partner does is your business, too.”

“I… I can’t tell anyone Bruce is my godfather, dad,” Steve muttered and dropped into a chair at his kitchen table. “They’ll either laugh me out of the Gazette or use me for connections. I might as well tell them Superman’s my dad.”

“Or that Lois Lane is your mother,” Clark added with a proud smirk. It was usually adorable to hear how proud he was of mom, but it really wasn’t helping right now. Not after a day of listening to Tony’s excitement over an invitation to Wayne’s annual charity masquerade ball. Yes, it was very exclusive, and yes, it was the perfect opportunity to dig up some dirt, but that wasn’t why Tony was excited.

“Dad, you’re gushing again,” Steve muttered in a tired voice. Clark furrowed his brow at his unusual mood, then pulled out a chair for himself next to Steve to listen.

“It’s just… I think Tony’s really interested in Bruce, dad,” Steve said quietly. “Everything he does fascinates him. How am I supposed to compete with a charming genius billionaire? Not to mention, _he’s family,_ and it’s just weird to feel jealous of the guy who gave me my first chainsaw.”

Clark watched him with a knowing, sympathetic look. If anyone could understand what it felt like to watch your partner fawn and gush over someone else because of boundaries you created yourself, it was Steve’s dad.

“And Tony knows you like him?”

“We, uh,” Steve floundered for a few seconds as it occurred to him how long it had been since he actually talked to his parents. He used to be better about telling them everything. How had he not gotten on the phone with them immediately after his first kiss with Tony? “I told him on Tuesday. We kissed, nothing more.”

Clark’s sudden smile was like a dawning sun. “Did you talk?”

“Not really,” Steve admitted after an uncomfortable pause. “It was late, we were dead on our feet. Nothing’s really happened since then.”

“Slow is good, Steve,” his dad promised. “You’re half human, this could all be normal for you, but… just in case it isn’t, you’ll want to know you can trust him.”

“I do trust him, dad,” Steve promised, because nothing was easier to admit. “I just… I wouldn’t mind knowing that he wanted me for me first. Steve Rogers, not Steve half-Kryptonian son of Superman.”

A lifetime of experience shone through in Clark’s small, bittersweet smile. “I know what you mean. You deserve no less.”

“Except he’s one of the smartest people I know so it’s not easy to throw him off when he’s got a lead. We were digging through everything ever published or released about Bruce for ten hours today. Do you know how hard it is to hide evidence when your partner’s right next to you? He’s going to figure out who Bruce is any day now… I think the only reason he hasn’t put it together yet is because it’s such a big leap to go from Bruce to Batman.”

“Don’t underestimate him, he’s got a clever disguise,” Clark said with a wry quirk of his lips. “I just never understood how he kept up with being Bruce.”

Steve couldn’t help but shrug. “He was always Bruce to me.”

Clark chuckled quietly to himself with the reminder of old, happy memories. “He’s a different Bruce around you. I think it’s who he could have been once, maybe.”

“Whatever he is or isn’t, he deserves his privacy, dad. Tell him I’ll get Tony off his case,” Steve said with finality. “Not that I know how, but he doesn’t need to worry. I’ll think of something.”

“Oh no, I’m staying out of this. You can tell him yourself tomorrow.”

***

After another long day of sowing as much doubt in Tony’s painfully insightful connections between Bruce Wayne and a certain local vigilante, Steve was faced with a whole other problem. Wayne’s Charity Ball was a _masquerade_ and he didn’t have a costume of any kind. What was an acceptable costume anyway? Didn’t masquerades mean fancy dress like Louis XIV and Phantom of the Opera? And here was Steve, perfectly average bachelor with no eccentric flair who didn’t even have white bedsheets to cut up for a ghost costume.

He was eyeing the curtains his mom had made him trying to guess how angry she’d be if he turned it into a toga when there was a knock at the door.

How had this become his life? He had a dream job that he was actively sabotaging, a partner whom he admired and was actively misleading - who had now become a potential romantic interest he was lying to about his damn biology - and even with superhuman speed and strength he was still not fast enough to be ready before Tony came to pick him up. How did Tony even do it? All Steve had managed to do was shower.

“I’m coming!” he called from his bedroom closet, stepping carefully over overturned boxes of belts and shoes and bags that were decidedly _not_ enough to make into a costume. He barely had his towel on still by the time he reached the door, and it only struck him that he could have asked Bruce for something when he came face to face with Tony, in a dazzling tuxedo and a porcelain half-mask.

Tony’s pinched look of irritation fell apart as he openly stared. “What—wha—I, I said seven, I thought you’d be naked. Uh, ready! Steven. Wait, that’s not your costume, is it?” he asked in minor alarm.

“No, I just got out of the shower. Come in,” Steve stepped aside to hold the door open. “Kitchen’s right through there, help yourself to anything. I’ll be ready in just a minute.”

“You think I can eat anything in this?” Tony muttered to himself as he made his way to the kitchen. Steve didn’t need heightened senses to know he was being ogled behind his back, and if it wasn’t impossible, Tony’s blatant admiration made Steve feel like he could fly.

Steve stopped dead in his tracks as his dad’s visit from the day before came back to him. The black suit was still in the drier! He hurried to the laundry room, and behind closed doors, he spun out of the towel and into the suit in a matter of seconds.

It might as well have been made for him.

He dried off his hair really quickly and ran to the bathroom to get a little mousse in it before his hair curled over his forehead.

“Steve… does anyone else live here?”

Steve frowned at himself through the mirror, gave himself a quick once over before giving up. There wasn’t much he could do, the big S didn’t look right on him; he simply wasn’t made to be Superman.

That didn’t mean the suit didn’t feel good.

He came out to find Tony snooping in his fridge with a confused look on his face. “It’s just me, Tony. How come?”

“Because you eat like a teenager but you look like—like—uhh.”

Steve blinked back at him. He had never seen Tony malfunction before. Steve slowly moved his hand to see if he could get Tony to stop staring at him. Could the black suit be reminding him of Batman?

“Tony?” he called softly before that venomous thought woke his ugly jealousy. “You still with me, partner?”

“You… you look so,” Tony stammered breathlessly, “so...”

“Don’t tell me it reminds you of Batman.”

Tony finally heard him and he grimaced in confusion. “What? No, it’s—you’re super sexy. How do you look like that when you eat like a twelve year old child?”

He gestured accusatively at the fridge again, where sure enough, Steve had stocked up on chocolate cake, chocolate milk, whipped cream, pounds of bacon, pop tarts, and a mostly-finished sour cherry cheesecake.

“I lift?” Steve tried at first, but then shrugged it off. This was one lie he didn’t want to say. “I don’t always eat like that, Tony. It’s been… it’s been a week. The week’s been hell, I have Wayne on my mind all the time, and then you, and the kiss. And we haven’t talked about it. It’s… I want to talk about it. It’s important to me, Tony,” he added more adamantly. “You’re important to me.”

“Hey, wait, no, Steve,” Tony looked a little shaken as he came closer, and before Steve knew what was happening, Tony was so close that Steve could feel the warmth of his skin and the scent of his body wash under the cologne. God, whatever he used, he smelled so good.

“I didn’t want to go too fast, I thought I’d let you drive. Kansas is a little different from New York, I didn’t want to pressure you or, you know. Make you uncomfortable.”

“Not everyone leaves room for Jesus, Tony,” Steve murmured, struggling not to get too distracted by the smell of Tony’s hair and how soft it looked and how badly he just wanted to nuzzle in close and wrap Tony in his arms and maybe carry him to bed and peel him out of the tuxedo and—

“This is exactly what I thought it would feel like,” Tony whispered as he inched closer. Steve could feel the feather-light touch of his fingers over his lower back sweeping up the breadth of his shoulders. “Every fantasy come true, except… now, it’s you.”

Dumbfounded, Steve stared back at the unexpected happiness dawning in Tony’s expression.

“What?” he blurted out before he could truly appreciate what Tony had confessed. “I thought you liked Batman.”

“...Batman? What? No, Steve: I love Superman.”

Apparently it could get worse than his partner crushing on his godfather. So much worse.

“I mean, I don’t know anymore—can we talk about all this later, Steve? We’ll be late to the ball, the car’s waiting. Let’s nail Wayne and then we can talk.”

 _So_ much worse.

***

With the party in full swing, Tony hauled his gift-wrapped partner off the dance floor, through the mingling crowds of networking semi-professionals, until they came out into an unoccupied hallway unseen.

“The private stairway to his office is this way, there are no cameras there. And if you see security, push me into the wall and kiss me.”

“What, because PDA makes people uncomfortable?”

“No, because I like it and it’s a great cover for sneaking away from the party! Which reminds me, why did Bruce Wayne come up to you? Do you know him?”

Steve blushed and looked down at the big silver S on his chest again, as if a man with a body so perfect had any right to be shy about it. “I think he said he liked the costume?”

“Well… can’t fault his taste, you look… sinful, Steve,” Tony grumbled under his breath. He spared two seconds to just drink in the sight of Steve in his skin-tight uniform, so perfect and understated in its simplicity. Superman was an alien, a legend, and who knew if he was even alive anymore? But Steve, Steve was real and genuine and everything Tony could have dreamed of. He was every inch the super man Tony needed.

He groaned inwardly at the terrible wordplay he’d subjected himself to, however true it was. Screw Superman, Tony wanted Steve, even if it meant abstaining from sex.

(Blowjobs didn’t count, right?)

Tony led the way into the stairwell and tried not to cry. Wayne’s office was on the 72nd floor.

“We could just let him get away with it,” Steve offered while peering up at the endless criss-cross of stairs climbing into nowhere.

“Not an option, Rogers,” Tony said with more bravado than he felt. “No man is too rich to escape justice.”

The climb started out well, but quickly turned into a crawl. Somewhere around the thirtieth floor Tony had to sit down to catch his breath, and poor Steve laid out on his back to soak up the cool comfort of the polished floor. Tony almost felt bad, except he meant what he said. It didn’t matter how many floors they had to climb; this was their best chance, and he wasn’t going to let it slip away.

“Come on,” he panted, patting an open hand at Steve’s nearest leg. “We’re halfway there.”

“You go,” Steve coughed, trying to wave him off. “Leave me, I’m a lost cause.”

“Not an option, partner. Where you go, I go. Come on,” he said as he grabbed Steve’s offered hand and helped haul Steve to his feet.

They were nearly at the 50s when Tony couldn’t feel his legs anymore. He started stumbling into the stairs, and when he inevitable tripped, Steve was there to catch him. Of all the things he could have said to rub this in Tony’s face, Steve didn’t do anything besides get an arm around his partner, and help Tony the rest of the way.

If Tony didn’t know any better, he’d even say Steve carried him the last ten floors all by himself.

“This is it,” Steve whispered as they got to the 72nd floor. If Tony had any motor control left in his body, he’d have warned Steve that it most likely was locked and that he’d have to pick it, but when Steve tried the door handle, it gave away smoothly under his touch and opened with ease.

“Can you walk?”

Tony grunted quietly and let go of Steve’s shoulders. His legs were so sore they could crumble any second, but this was too important. One careful step after another, and soon Tony led them out into Wayne’s office.

If Tony had ever wondered what crazy rich people decorated their offices with, he could have stood and stared for hours. There was an original Dali hanging near an original Jackson Pollock, and it made no artistic sense other than to show off just how wealthy the asshole really was. Beautiful marble sculptures and enormous slabs of ancient bas relief were mounted on sturdy plinths.

“Christ, look at all this,” Tony muttered to himself, staring at a great bas relief depicting Assyrian hunters firing arrows at lions. “These belong in museums.”

“Focus, Tony. We don’t know what security he has. What are we looking for?”

“I’ll get into his computer, you try to find his safe.”

Steve turned to frown at where Tony was already bent over at the computer to plug in a thumb drive. “That’s your big plan? Fishing? Tony, who’s to say he even has a safe?”

“Less complaining, more searching!”

“We’re going to get caught and turned into the police,” Steve grumbled to himself while he systematically made his way along the walls and behind paintings, feeling for any grooves or inconsistencies that might give a safe away. “This is not an acceptable reason to go to prison, Tony.”

“I said less complaining more—”

“I am searching! I don’t have x-ray vision, Tony!”

“Shh! I’m in,” Tony quickly hissed at him, turning back to the computer now that he was past the encryptions. The thumb drive did quick work of gathering all of Wayne’s browsing history and his saved passwords while Tony scanned the likeliest corners of his hard drive for incriminating evidence.

“Tony, do you hear something?”

The alarm in Steve’s voice caught Tony’s attention and he looked up in time to see Steve heading for the door to the hallway.

“Steve! What are you doing?”

“I think someone’s coming—”

“Then hide!”

Steve didn’t budge. “If only one of us gets caught, the other can still write the story!”

Tony couldn’t help but perk up a little. He hadn’t thought of it that way before, and if he was honest, Steve’s logic made sense. Besides, the story he could write would most likely get Steve exonerated anywa—

“What, seriously?” Steve shot back from the door, closing it in front of him. “You’d let me sacrifice my future for a story?”

Tony offered his most innocent of smiles and batted his eyelashes. “I’d still share the byline?”

“Fat chance, Tony: hide!”

Except Wayne’s office was an exercise in modern architecture, and the whole space was designed as an open plan with big windows that left no shadows where secrets could hide. Not to mention Tony’s thumb drive was still running its software; if he pulled out now they’d get nothing for all this trouble.

“But Steve, the computer, it’s still—”

Steve didn’t give two shits about what the computer was doing. He lunged for Tony who only managed to turn off the monitor before Steve dragged him behind the relative cover of a bas relief on a large granite stand. Why weren’t they hiding in the stairwell? There was no way security guards would run ten floors just to secure the office, he and Steve could have gotten away then come back for the drive.

Before Tony could make his case, Steve clapped his hand over his mouth and gave him a warning look. Tony didn’t even have the time to be angry before the office door opened and two armed security guards walked into the room.

They were going to go to jail. They were going to go to jail and it would all be Tony’s fault. Kind, gentle, gorgeous Steve who’d have every man with a pulse after him and his gorgeous lips, it would all be Tony’s fault for dragging him into this. Maybe if he gave himself up—maybe if he pretend he’d done this alone and left Steve to hide behind the cover of the ancient sculpture he’d be the only one convicted of the crime and Steve could write the story. Maybe he’d even share the byline with Tony so they’d have one last story together as partners.

The guards were getting closer to their corner of the office. Tony had no time to lose. It was now or never.

***

This close, Steve didn’t need his dad’s super hearing to notice how Tony’s heartbeat pitched into a whole new kind of panic. He was going to act, Steve just knew it—Tony was holding his breath and blinking like he was staring into the sun, and the sudden flash of determination in his eyes made Steve's heart ache with understanding.

Tony was going to throw himself to the wolves and hope it was enough.

Without thinking, he shoved Tony back into the wall with the full force of his body weight pinning him in place. He removed his hand from Tony’s lips and covered them instead with his own, eager and confident and ever so gentle, like they had the luxury of indulging in leisurely kisses and affection.

Tony’s fears and resistance were forgotten. He melted against Steve’s chest, draping one arm over Steve’s shoulders and groping at Steve’s chest over his suit. Steve spared his hands only long enough to heft Tony’s weight against his own body, encouraging him to wrap his legs around Steve’s waist. Tony purred softly into the kiss, and not once did he seem to notice how Steve’s hands left his body, or how ever so carefully, Steve dug his fingers into the wall behind Tony to literally carve handholds into the wall and lift their joined bodies towards the ceiling where nobody would expect them.

Distantly, Steve heard as the guards called it clear and left the office the way they came. He waited until he was sure their footsteps were lost to the elevator before easing himself and Tony back down. When he stepped down onto the floor, he reached for Tony’s thighs to hold him in place, or at least to encourage him to stay. Just because they were in the clear for now didn’t mean he was willing to let go yet.

“You… thank you, Steve,” Tony whispered unevenly between attempts to catch his breath. “I, I didn’t think we’d make it there for a second.”

“It’s like you said, Tony,” Steve replied just as quietly, “where you go, I go. That means no sacrifice plays.”

Tony made a rasping sound of disapproval. “You’re my partner, Steve. I’m not making any promises.”

“Then I’m not letting go.”

Tony blinked back at him, momentarily confused. It took him a few seconds to remember who held him upright, and that his feet weren’t in fact touching the floor.

“As if that’s a threat, Rogers,” Tony said with a roll of his eyes. “How long can you hold this position anyway, two minute? Ten?”

Steve couldn’t help but smile. “I could do this all day.”

***

They finished with the computer and took the stairs back down to ground level. Tony’s resolve lasted until the 47th floor where he finally promised not to jump into sacrifice plays and demanded to be let down. They rejoined the party long enough to show their faces to the right people, then got out of there before their luck ran out.

They shared a taxi to Steve’s place, which was about midway between Wayne Tower and Tony’s apartment. But when Steve climbed out, Tony asked the driver to wait and followed him out to the curb.

“This has been a tough case, Steve. You had my back when it mattered, I won’t forget that,” Tony told him in a calm, gentle voice. For once in this whole mess of hope and excitement and insanity that was his partnership and friendship with Steve, he knew precisely what he wanted.

“Whatever happens, I want you to know that there’s no-one else I’d want as my partner, Steve. No-one else I’d rather spend my time with—even if, uh. Even if we leave room for Jesus,” he tried to say as diplomatically as possible. “Whatever makes you comfortable, you know? I want that, whatever makes you comfortable.”

Steve’s expression changed from listening attentively, to confusion, to playful curiosity.

“You mean that, Tony?” he asked. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the Superman suit I’m wearing, would it?”

Tony sniffed in feigned hurt. “We could try this again without the costume if you like, if that would make you feel better. You know, only if it’s for your benefit.”

Steve bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“Why don’t you come in? There are some things I’d like to tell you, Tony. Some things I’d like to show you, too. Do you have the time?”

For someone who was bracing himself for some 20th century midwestern courting ritual, Tony couldn’t believe what he was hearing. All he could do was nod and hope Steve understood.

Steve took Tony’s hand gently in his, but before leading the way to his place, he made sure to pay the driver and include the fare for driving Tony home. Tony had been around Steve long enough not to be surprised, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t touched. Not to mention he had no idea where Steve had been hiding his wallet in that skin-tight Superman suit. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

This time when Steve led him into his place, they went to the living room first. Steve made sure they sat down; sitting seemed very important to him in this moment, except he couldn’t seem to sit still for very long himself.

Was he proposing already? Was that how Tony was going to be delivered from an extended case of blue balls? But he couldn’t say yes just for sex, Steve deserved better. Tony could do better.

“This case has been… really difficult for me, but not because of the reasons you may think. I, um. When I came to Gotham, I barely knew anyone. I knew one person, that was it. This was just going to be a place to get some experience in journalism before I moved on, traveled the world. But, then I met you, and, and you—it’s actually a little funny, because this is how my parents met, but I didn’t think I’d fall for my partner at work, that would be too big of a coincidence, but look at me I’m a walking cliche, I’m, I’m a disaster Tony, I’ve never done this before so all of it would be on you—”

“All of what?” Tony eventually had to interrupt him to ask. He’d never seen Steve so unnerved before, and he really didn’t like it. “Steve, what are you saying?”

“I’m trying to say I haven’t been entirely honest with you, Tony,” Steve managed to confess, his voice breaking on the word ‘entirely.’ “You, you may have heard about my mom, Lois Lane.”

For one monumental second, Tony’s whole world was put on pause.

“What.”

“I’ve been wanting to tell you, Tony. I wanted to tell you when I first told you I liked you on Tuesday. I just, I wanted a chance to know if I was enough, if just Steve was enough. But you deserve to know, too. So, Lois Lane is my mom and Clark Kent is my dad,” Steve explained as steadily as he could. “Tony, Clark Kent is Superman.”

Gravity reversed itself and Tony’s head was lost at sea.

“Is this some big joke? Make fun of the Superman fanb—”

Whatever Tony had meant to say was forgotten as Steve picked up the couch he was sitting in without so much as grunting with exertion. Steve continued to effortlessly hold the couch in midair so that they were eye to eye.

“I trust you, Tony,” he swore, “whatever happens, I trust you. I want to be with you, but I can’t do that if I can’t be honest.”

Superman’s son. Steve was the son of the greatest hero of Tony’s generation, and he wanted to be with Tony. He trusted Tony.

More importantly, he was someone Tony knew he could rely on. There was nothing Steve hadn’t done to be at Tony’s side, and whatever else Steve could have said, Tony already knew how he felt.

And finally, after decades of dreaming about debauching his hero to study his magnificent alien cock - for science, of course - Tony had the chance to live out that dream with _his_ hero.

“Most people just tell me they have hepatitis when they’re honest in a relationship,” Tony mumbled in a daze before he could stop himself. He couldn’t have been more awkward if he talked through a shoe.

“Can, uh. Can you function like, you know. Like a human man?”

“I don’t know, but I think so?” Steve swallowed uncomfortably. He set down the couch and sat down on it near Tony, leaving a respectful distance between them. “I don’t have much experience. Besides kissing, I mean. But mom didn’t have serious problems, and I’m more human than dad. I have his strength and his senses, but not—I can’t fly, I don’t have heat vision or freezing breath. I don’t have x-ray vision. I can bleed.”

“Wait—wait, go back to; you don’t have experience besides kissing? Steve, wait,” Tony said before the thought of Superman’s son being physically vulnerable overwhelmed him. How many people could have used him against his dad if they had known?

“Steve, if you’re waiting for marriage, I can do that. We can take it as slowly as you—”

“I’m not a virgin because virginity is important to me, Tony. I was only waiting for someone I could be honest with, about me and my family.”

Tony listened carefully in the hopes of finding the little tell-tale signs of how Steve felt. “Are you sure? You’re not going to scare me away if you, you know. If you do.”

“What I did never mattered to me, Tony. All I’ve wanted was to find the right partner,” Steve promised. “And honestly? You’ve been worth the wait.”


End file.
